Friday, July 18, 2014

One of my Beta readers sent
me a compliment. She liked my dialogue. It was very kind of her and very much
appreciated.

I responded by explaining a
little about my three steps to building a scene.

When I first begin blocking
out a scene, I think about what I want to accomplish and how best to advance
the plot. Then I chose the characters I need. Since I’ve gotten most of my
characters developed to the point I can hear them when they speak—I let them. Step
one: I run through the scene with dialogue.

After I get a good sense of
who’s saying what, who’s placing the important clue, who’s dropping the snarky
remark, who’s making a joke—I get on with step two: making them move around within
a defined space.

Step two takes awhile. I
blame it on my high school English teacher, a no-nonsense WWII vet who marked
down any padded writing that crossed his desk. It left me with a natural
inclination for sparseness and brevity, good traits for a short story or an
essay, but not so much for a novel. In a novel, the reader wants more details
about everything.

As hard as it is for me, after
I get the furnishings in the room, the room in a building, and the building in
Bishop Hill, I’m faced with my most difficult task—step three: giving them emotions.

Seriously, at an early point,
I considered the merits of an autistic protagonist. But I kept at it using the
feedback I was given in workshops, writing groups, and from my primary reader,
my husband.

Every time I revisit a scene
I find something to fix, improve, and polish. All the little changes build up
to enrich and add more depth. It reminds me of layers of varnish and wear on an
old table, part of the whole that sets it apart, makes it unique.

This three step plan works
most of the time. Once in awhile, one of my characters will take off on their
own. I have to follow. It usually works out for the best. I’ve discovered that
I need to pay attention to their dialogue. They know what they’re talking
about.

Friday, July 11, 2014

Blocked. Stuck. Waiting for
the Muse. Every writer has to develop ways to overcome the obstacles to
writing. Here are a few of the things that I have tried:

·Lie down for a
nap

·Go for a drive

·Take a walk

·Weed a flower bed

·Cook something

I know what you’re
thinking—laying down for a nap is pure hedonism. I’ll admit there’s a certain element
of indulgence involved, but more often than not, it works out in my favor. I’ll
be stewing over a scene, a bit of dialogue, or need some character development
and when I close the door, darken the room, and tune out the world my
subconscious mind kicks in and the answers come to me. It’s pretty neat when it
works. On those other times, I wake up refreshed and ready to go back to work.

Going for a drive is another
way to get to the subconscious, but I can’t do it the way I used to when I
lived in Bishop Hill. Back then it was a 15 minute drive to Galva, 25 minutes
to Kewanee, and 40 minutes to Galesburg.
Since the roads didn’t usually have that much traffic, I could shift the mental
gears to automatic and let the brain wonder a bit. (Unless it was deer season
of course and you have to stay with the here and now.)

Since moving to the big city,
I can’t drive like that anymore. I’m watching the cars in front of me, on
either side, and behind. I’m waiting for the lights to change and trying not to
get lost. Definitely not the time to relax and seek the Muse.

That leaves the healthiest
choice—walking. I walk. I get ideas. I solve problems. I get exercise. What’s
not to like?

I do think walking in Bishop
Hill was easier. I walked to the post office. I walked to work. I walked to
visit people. I walked for lunch. It was much easier to get “out and about” as
an old coffee buddy used to say.

Bishop Hill had the ideal set
up. The centrally located green space, actually a state park, was perfect for walking
laps. Once around the park was a quarter mile loop. Work your way out to the
next circle of streets and you added another quarter mile. Because of Bishop
Hill’s smallness, there were only two more loops to be had, so you could work
up to a mile and a half. Anything more required some creativity or branching
off onto the country roads.

I’m getting better at taking
walks in the city. I’m finding my way around the local neighborhoods. I can
make it to the closest shopping center, the big mall, and even the YMCA.

The last items on my list can
explain themselves. The cooking, and the eating, can be healthy—or not.

Now, my main outlet is making
gluten free bread. A much better alternative to what I used to call the “Bishop
Hill pie diet.” Imagine the three o’clock doldrums within easy reach of five
restaurants and their dessert menus. It often gave me an added incentive to
walk the long way home and ponder other scenarios and better choices.

Friday, July 4, 2014

I went to the pitch sessions I’d
signed up for at the David R. Collins Writers’ Conference and a funny thing
happened—I did okay.

Yes, I gave each one my best
shot. I answered questions and made my points about character arcs, conflicts,
and themes; filled my allotted ten minutes with thoughtful conversation about
my novel; and came away amazed.

I don’t think I could have
done that even a few months ago. If asked the simplest question: What’s it
about? I would have been hard pressed to say anything coherent.

So what’s changed?

For one thing—this blog.

I’ve been working on these
weekly articles about the novel since April and I believe they’ve made me
become better acquainted with my own work, in part and in whole.

It wasn’t an intended goal. I
just felt I was far enough along with the process that I could write about it
for awhile. It seemed like a good idea.

The second thing that’s
changed—I’ve done more public readings.

Most recently, I went to the
conference gathering at Rozz-Tox in Rock
Island. Following the faculty readings, the mic was
open to conference attendees, so I signed up. I chose to read some poems. A
brave thing to do, since I’m NOT a poet. I figured with one good free verse
poem and three short limericks I could get up, practice speaking, and get out
of the way fairly quickly.

Microphones are wonderful
things, especially that one—once I got it into position. I stepped up, spoke
into it, and could be heard. And by the comments I received afterward, appreciated.

Strange things happen all the
time. A simple cat poem can become a confidence builder.

A Cat’s Ode to the
Left-Over Pot Roast

By Mary Davidsaver

Eat a cow?

Eat it now?

It may be cold.

It may be old.

...eat it anyhow.

(You had to have been there.)

So, my pitches weren’t perfect,
but I did well enough for an agent to request fifty pages. At this stage of the
game, that’s a win.

About Me

Mary Davidsaver is a graduate of the University of Iowa and a retired jewelry designer. She has written for local newspapers since 2007. She is a member of the Midwest Writing Center who has won two Iron Pen first place awards. In 2013, she was the first local writer to win the Great River Writer's Retreat Contest. She has published her first novel with MWC Press.
Mary was presented with the Outstanding Literary Artist Award at the May 24, 2017 annual meeting of the Midwest Writing Center.